Wammy's Compendium
by KnifeInTheCrayonBox
Summary: Ch. 2: "Near's grey eyes met Mello's icy blue gaze from across the table—over the turkey and cranberries and other Thanksgiving Day food—and actually smirked, a silent challenge in his normally emotionless gray eyes." Near says the Thanksgiving Day prayer, and Mello is determined not to let the boy beat him...at anything. A collection of Mello and Near centered one-shots.
1. Thunderstorm

_Thunderstorm_

A loud crack of thunder jolted Mello awake, and his eyes snapped open in the darkness. He groaned and rolled over in his bed, cursing England's dreary weather for waking him up. When he went to sleep earlier it had been clear, but now it was storming. Raising a hand to rub his bleary eyes, he shifted around in the bed, trying to once again find a comfortable position.

A crack of lightning lit up the room, illuminating the various toys and other games littering the floor before fading back into blackness. Wait, toys? Where was he? This wasn't his room! It took Mello's half-asleep mind a minute to remember that he was currently rooming with Near.

The room he shared with his best friend Matt was being treated due to an ant infestation. Roger found out that the cause of the pest problem was a piece of chocolate Mello accidentally dropped. It had laid there for some time, and drawn a ton of carpenter ants. They had settled into the wooden panels and floorboards, so a professional had to be called to deal with the problem. As a result, Mello had been forbidden from eating chocolate in his room, and had been assigned to sleep in Near's room until his own was ready to be inhabited again (he suspected being stuck with Near was part of his punishment). Matt had better luck, and had been allowed to room with B.

A moment later, a deafening boom reverberated throughout the room, rattling the windows and reminding Mello of fireworks he and his parents used to watch every Russia Day when he was younger. Once the slight ringing in his ears wore off, the older boy heard a strange noise coming from the other side of the room.

Sitting up in bed, he looked around in the darkness and strained his eyes, trying to locate the source. Finally, he recognized the distinct sound of someone crying nearby. The lightning flashed a moment later, and in the brief light, Mello caught sight of Near's shaking form hiding under the white sheets of his bed.

A loud boom followed, and Mello let out a snort when a scared whimper followed. He almost wanted to laugh at the situation. So there _were_ things Near was scared of! Never once had Mello seen any flicker of emotion pass across the big-headed twit's face, so he chose to savor this rare moment. He had an overwhelming desire to walk over there and throw aside the covers, just to see the terrified look on Near's face. What a baby—scared of a little loud noise!

He was too tired to seize the opportunity, though, so he simply rolled over in his bed and tried to settle back to sleep. The storm didn't bother him much, but every time he seemed to drift off, the sniffling and whimpering from across the room kept him from it. After ten minutes of tossing and turning—even trying to block out the brat's crying with his own pillow—he'd had enough.

He picked up a toy robot lying near his bed and waited until a flash of lightning lit up the room, then lobbed it at Near's quivering form. The toy struck him in time with the thunder, causing his pained yelp to sound louder than ever.

"Shut up, Near! It's just a storm. Quit being such a baby!"

The crying continued, though, and if anything, it grew slightly louder, and—and _oh my God_ , Mello was so _done_ with this crap! If the kid wasn't going to stop crying, he'd _make_ him! He threw his covers aside and stormed over to Near's bed, ripping the covers away just as another flash of lightning lit up the room, revealing a petrified Near.

The younger boy had a toy robot clutched in his white-knuckled grip, and was curled up into a ball, legs bundled up against his chest. Tears streamed down his pale face, and his eyes were red-rimmed. His once emotionless gray eyes were now brimming with pain and fear. The pitiful sight almost made Mello feel guilty about yelling at the boy… _almost._

 _He's ten-years-old—not five!_ He rationalized to himself. _He needs to grow up and get over his stupid fear!_

The light dimmed and they were left in complete darkness, followed by a boom of thunder that made Near let out a hoarse cry. Just like that, Mello's irritation was back full-force. He reached a hand out and slapped Near upside the head.

"Quit crying, you big baby—I'm trying to sleep over there!"

He tossed the covers back over the weirdo and stomped over to his bed. However, even with the threat of violence, the crying didn't stop. Mello was too tired to beat the kid, so he simply yanked his own covers off the bed, grabbed his pillow and headed for the door.

He wasn't about to seek shelter in someone else's room, since it would imply that he couldn't handle the little freak's crying, but he could sleep just outside. The morning bell would give him five minutes to make his way back inside before there was a mad rush for the boy's shower room.

As he made his way through the darkness, he nearly tripped over several toys, and even stepped on a Lego, causing him to let out a string of curse words. He swore he'd break every single one of Near's stupid toys in the morning, but right now he just wanted to get some _rest_.

He finally made it to the door and slipped outside, setting up his makeshift bed a few inches from the door. With the heavy wooden doorframe between them, Near's annoying crying was gone. He punched his pillow a couple times to relieve his frustration. First he's banned from eating chocolate in his room, then he's told he has to share a room with that freak, and now _this!_ He drew in a deep, calming breath and laid down. He had just resigned himself to sleep when— _oof!_

Something hard slammed into Mello's side, causing him to let out an undignified yelp. Something warm and heavy landed on the ground next to him, and as he waited for the pain to die down, a bright light flashed in his face. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the flashlight, and could just make out Roger's figure lying on the ground in front of him, shining said object in his face. The beam of light traveled down to the blankets and pillow resting on the ground.

" _Mello_? What are you doing sleeping out in the hallway?"

He shot the older man a glare as he rubbed his throbbing side. "That big-headed twit in there won't stop crying!"

"Near?"

 _No, the mice under my bed—of course it's Near!_ Mello wanted to snap, but he knew he was already skating on thin ice because of the ant incident, so he decided to stay quiet.

When he received no reply, Roger ran a tired hand over his face, letting out a sigh. "Well, I can't have you sleeping out in the hallway. If anyone else gets up to use the restroom they'll trip over you."

"I can't sleep with all that crying!"

"You could be a little more sympathetic to his situation, Mello," Roger said in that annoying calm voice he always used to scold him.

"Why should I feel _sorry_ for him? He's just being a big baby!"

"Near's parents died during a thunderstorm when a bolt of lightning set their house on fire." With that one sentence, Mello felt like all the air had been knocked out of him. A feeling strangely similar to guilt started to simmer in his chest before he roughly shoved it aside. "Near almost died as well, but he was pulled out before the house collapsed."

There was a tense silence where only the drone of rain slapping against the roof could be heard. Mello's guilt grew by the second, no matter how he tried to squash it. He suddenly felt like a jerk when he remembered how he'd treated Near.

"Fine, I'll go back inside," he grumbled, not wanting Roger to see the effect his words had on him.

He opened the door and was instantly greeted by the sound he'd left the room to escape. Mello realized that calming Near down was probably the only way to get him to shut up, and besides, he was still feeling guilty over his previous actions. He let out a sigh of resignation, rolling his eyes.

He crossed the room—miraculously managing to avoid stubbing any toes this time—and made it to Near's bed. Slipping under the covers, he scooted closer to the boy's shaking body. A flash of light revealed the scared look on Near's face as he scooted away—probably expecting to be hit again—but Mello reached out a hand and yanked the boy against him. Near was going to be comforted whether he wanted it or not!

The boy tensed, as if expecting a blow, but when Mello only reached for his back and began rubbing circles there, he could feel him relax. He wasn't sure what made him do that, exactly, but it just felt natural.

Eventually the crying stopped, and the sniffling was reduced. The smaller boy leaned his head against Mello's chest, and he could feel Near's soft hair tickling his chin. Hesitant arms wrapped around Mello's waist and clutched him like he was his lifeline.

Suddenly memories flooded back to him of when he was a small child. Whenever he was scared, his mother would take him in her arms and rub soothing circles on his back—her way of calming him down. It had been so long ago that Mello could scarcely recall the memory, but now that he thought about it, he realized that whenever he felt lost and scared, or woke up from a particularly bad dream, he would always yearn for his mother's soothing touch.

Mello felt like there was something lodged in this throat—something hard and lumpy that brought tears to his eyes. He was reminded of how much he missed his mother. He hadn't felt the embrace of another person since her death. Even if that person was his rival—a weird little freak whom he couldn't stand most of the time—he still felt an overwhelming feeling of comfort wash over him at the contact…and he didn't like it one bit. He was supposed to be tough and strong, but right now he could feel his exterior cracking, revealing a flood of emotions he'd kept bottled up ever since he was taken by the authorities and placed into foster care. He could feel all the turmoil and hurt over the past few years coming to the surface. Mello sniffled back the tears and angrily swiped at his eyes. He'd he damned if he let Near turn him soft!

"Mello, are you crying?" Near asked, his voice soft and uncertain.

"Don't you dare tell anyone about this, got it?" He grumbled in response. He had a reputation to protect, after all.

Mello felt Near nod against his chest, and with that, he let a small sigh of relief escape his lips. Near stopped shaking, and eventually he drifted off to sleep in the older boy's arms. The thunder continued to crash around them, but Mello kept rubbing Near's back until he finally drifted off as well, feeling truly content for the first time in years.

* * *

 **This wasn't meant to be romantic or shippy, but I guess you could see it that way if you wanted. I just think there's a lack of Near and Mello stories revolving around their days at Wammy's House that _aren't_ romantic in nature but are still fluffy, ****(or maybe I just don't know where to look)** **so I thought I'd contribute something.**

 **Hope you enjoyed! More should be coming for this collection, most of which will just be friendship fluff, or focusing on the rivalry between Mello and Near. :)**


	2. Thanksgiving Prayers

_Thanksgiving Prayers_

The whole orphanage had been decorated to celebrate Thanksgiving Day.

It wasn't a common thing in England to celebrate the holiday, but since Wammy's House selected children from all over the world, they made a point to celebrate the holiday for the one's that _did_. Not that the other kids minded having an excuse to take the day off and stuff themselves with turkey. And so all the children had contributed to the decorations.

Colorful, hand drawn pictures of pilgrims and Indians, and cornucopia's laden with food lined the white walls. Yellow, orange, and brown streamers were hung from the ceiling, and on every door hung a wreath made of fake leaves and other fall-focused foliage.

Mello couldn't have cared less about those things, though: the one thing every single kid looked forward to on this day was the big Thanksgiving Day feast held at noon. Classes were cancelled for the day, and after the big lunch they had the rest of the day to do whatever they wanted.

At the end of the table, Roger stood up and all the children turned their attention to him. "All right, now before we eat, does anyone want to give thanks?"

Mello knew this was just a formality—a tradition observed in the spirit of Thanksgiving, since very few of the children could be considered 'religious'. He was one of them—the rosary around his neck proved _that_ much—but right now he didn't feel like praying, he just wanted to dig in to the food on the table.

Roger looked at Mello, and so did a few other children, expecting him to say the prayer, but when he remained silent—staring intently at the steaming turkey in front of him—their eyes finally shifted away.

"All right, well if nobody would like—" Roger began, about to tell the children they could dig in, when a pale hand was raised in the air. Mello's blue eyes snapped up to see Near sitting there, one finger twirling a lock of snow white hair.

"I'll say grace," he said, his tone just as calm and emotionless as always.

"All right, go ahead," Roger said, sitting down at the table.

Near lowered his hand—causing a curled strand that had been wrapped around his finger to bounce up—and folded his hands, looking very much like a portrait of a cherub, complete with a halo of white hair, and stark white clothes to match. Mello stared in disbelief at the albino sitting across the table from him. He was pretty sure—no, he was absolutely _certain_ —Near didn't believe in any sort of god. So what was he doing?

Near bowed his head and began to pray. When Mello looked around he saw none of the kids had bothered to close their eyes, and were instead staring at the strange sight before them. Even Matt had paused his Game Boy game and was gazing at the boy with a confused look on his face.

What followed was a prayer that would have made Billy Graham proud.

In that instant, the blond knew what this was about. By the time Near was finished, Mello was practically seething. How _dare_ he! _Mello_ was the one who prayed, not Near! He bet that Near only did it to make him mad! That would be just like him.

"And lastly, I'd like to give thanks for my best friend—Mello," Near said, surprising Mello. The older boy's eyes widened, and at that exact moment, gray eyes snapped open. "Amen."

Near didn't believe in God—he probably didn't even _mean_ what he'd said in his prayer. The whole thing had been a way to one-up Mello, just like always. And that little bit at the end—it had been a jab. Near had been calling him out in his own subtle way—goading him, taunting him. Mello just _knew_ it! Why did he always have to turn _every single bloody thing_ into a competition!

Mello ground his teeth together and narrowed his eyes at the little twit. So this was a contest, then? Fine, let Near have it his way. There was no way he'd let that little albino freak _out-pray_ him! He was the one who attended Mass when he was young—who wore his mother's rosary around his neck! He'd beat the kid!

Everyone turned their eyes to Mello at Near's last comment, waiting for his reaction to it. Everyone knew they were rivals—always had been.

Roger gave a clap of his hands. "Well, now that—"

"I'll pray too, Roger," Mello said, meeting Near's stare dead-on.

One glance at the headmaster told him he had a vague idea of what was going on here. He was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, but he couldn't really deny him the right to say prayer, could he?

"Very well."

Mello folded his hands and closed his eyes…and then recalled every memory he could of when he attended Mass with his mother. He gave a prayer that beat Near's, because at this, he actually had an advantage. He actually _knew_ how to do this better than Near—had more experience. At the end, he added his own little touch, "I would also like to give thanks for my best friend, Near." _Take that—you big-headed twit!_

At that sentence, Near's eyes widened just a tiny fraction—as if he hadn't expected this, as if he was surprised by it. Stupid little sheep—always trying to play innocent. Mello met his stare with a glare. Their gazes locked, and grey eyes met icy blue from across the table—over the turkey and cranberries and other Thanksgiving Day food. For a split second there was nothing but a bit of surprise in that grey gaze, but then it faded, and then…then Near actually _smirked_ , a silent challenge in his normally emotionless eyes.

Before either boy could say anything, Roger said, "Well, we can all—"

"Roger, I would like to pray again. There were some things I forgot to say," Near interrupted, his face a mask of cool indifference as he twirled a strand of white hair around his finger.

"I don't think—" Roger began, but was interrupted by Near beginning his prayer.

There was movement in Mello's peripherial vision, and he turned to see Matt glaring at him. "Best friend, huh?" Matt muttered from his seat beside Mello. One look at Matt's closed Gameboy told him that his friend was _definitely_ ticked off. The irritation was clear behind the lens of his tinted goggles. "I'll remember that next time you wanna play on my Xbox."

Oh, great, now Matt was mad at him. _W_ _enig Scheiße,_ Mello cursed Near in his mind.

He turned his gaze back to the boy, who was clearly trying to give Martin Luther a run for his money. When he was done Mello didn't even give Roger a chance to speak—he began praying again. He wasn't going to lose—he _wasn't_! Near may know a lot of fancy words, but Mello spoke with _passion_!

He was barely aware of the other kid's watching the showdown with fascination. Some were even whispering to each other—placing bets on which one would win, no doubt. Mello had barely finished when Near spoke up again, "Roger, if I may—"

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor screeched from beside Mello, and everyone turned to see Matt standing. "I wanna pray."

Roger plopped down into his chair and raised a hand to his face, running his fingers down it. He didn't even bother to reply, just gave a sigh. Matt took that as confirmation and turned his gaze to Mello.

"Dear God, wanna know what I'm thankful for? I'm thankful for my video games. Amen, hallelujah, and all that jazz." He plopped down into his chair. "Can we eat now?"

* * *

 **Happy Thanksgiving to everybody out there celebrating it! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. :)**


End file.
